


Stolen Ciggy

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Reservoir Thots [27]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Pink Is A Big Softie And We All Know It, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: two mini fics from prompts from a list i reblogged on tumblr (originally by @spettrocoli) that anon asked me to do for mr. pink! :)





	Stolen Ciggy

**51:**

Pink looks down at you, eyelids droopy, leaning against the bar sleepily.  **“I think I’m in love with you.”**

“I–what?” you stammer, meeting his gaze.

His face drops. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“Either that or I’m hearing things.”

Like a deer in the headlights, he freezes, eyes deathly open in a state of what can only be described as ‘what-in-the-everliving-fuck-did-i-just-do’. A self deprecating kind of fear. He stays like this for a few seconds, then all of a sudden legs it out of the bar.

Of course, you follow him. It’s pitch black out and he’s pretty drunk. “Pink!” you call after him, speed-walking to catch up with him. Those damn long legs of his will be the death of you– on a normal day you can’t keep up he walks so fast, but when he’s running there’s no point in even trying. Speed-walking is the best way to go, yes. 

Pink had gotten drunk plenty of times around you and opened up a teensy bit (which, let’s face it, is a LOT for him), but he had never even shown a notion of, as he put it, being ‘in love with you’. You had always assumed he was a little nicer to you simply because you’re the only girl in the Dogs. Trying to comprehend what he’d said to you, you head around the corner of the bar and lo-and-behold, there he is. Keeled over on the ground, throwing up. You saunter over and kneel beside him, patting him on the back. “Get it up, sweetheart, go on,” you encourage him, your voice extra soft.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, lips wet and sticky with sick. You rub his back reassuringly and he throws up a bit more. It’s runny, a dirty orange colour, and has a horribly pungent stench of whiskey. 

“Appetising.”

He manages a chuckle and you help him sit up against the bar wall, the chill of the night nipping at your exposed skin. Wearing one of your flattering dresses was always fun, just not when you’re outside in fucking autumn. “So… what the hell was that all about?” you ask.

“What I said?”

“Duh.”

Sighing, Pink watches you dig a tissue from your handbag. “I don’t know,” he says, letting you dab at his facial hair with it to wipe off the remainder of the sick and saliva. “Alcohol does stuff.”

“Sweetie, you can’t just blame it on the whiskey.”

He gazes at you. His eyes seem lost, distant. “I just wish I had you.”

“You  _do–”_

“To myself.”

“Well,” you say, crawling over and sitting beside him, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

He looks at your hand sheepishly and, hesitating, takes it in his own. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” You think for a moment. It’s difficult to think on the spot. You know you have feelings for him, but it’s just finding the right words. It’s tough. “I don’t know, it’s like, what’s the word– relative.”

“Relative?”

“Y’know, it can mean one thing to you and another thing to me.”

“Oh,” he says, seeming a little put out, though more relaxed than earlier. Your voice is soothing to him. “I mean, you  _know_ I’m kinda shitty at, y’know, talkin’ about my feelings, but I suppose I can try to, uh, explain it?”

You nod in response, rubbing his back again, gentler this time. It seems he’s done throwing up but it’s not very often you get to show him affection. Pink is a very closed book. “Take your time.”

“I just– I’ve never…  _felt_ so intensely for somebody, ever. Not until I met you. And it’s a constant fuckin’ battle in my head,” he rambles, waving his hands about in that paranoid way he always does, “between wantin’ to tell you and, y’know, take you on a date or some bullshit like that  _or_ just living with the same fuckin’ misery I’ve lived with for I don’t  _know_ how long.” He slowly looks across at you, wholly terrified of your response.

 _“I’m_  in love with  _you.”_

He looks dumbfounded. “Wh–” he begins, but you pull him in for a kiss, the foul taste of regurgitated whiskey on his trembling lips. 

But you don’t care. You’ve got him.

**85:**

You nudge Pink and nod your head at Orange & White– they’re sprawled across Eddie’s rug petting each other, hiccuping and giggling. “Do you think they’re drunk?” you whisper.

“I think they’re fuckin’ gay for each other.”

Snorting at his comment, you drape his arm around you lazily. Eddie had had you & the Dogs over for takeaway and drinks, and it was safe to say that some of you had gone overboard  ~~coughcoughwhiteandorange.~~  After a LOT of bickering over what to eat, you had persuaded the boys into ordering pizza– it’s yummy, versatile and filling.

Five pizzas and many, many drinks later, you were all incredibly stuffed and giddy, lazing about in Ed’s living room. Brown had begged to put a VHS of ‘Alien’ on and, after a squabble over that, had done so. He’s half-asleep in an armchair, Eddie and Blonde are snoozing after a playfight and Blue is picking at the leftover pizzas.

“I’m gonna steal one of Blonde’s cigs, do you want one?” you whisper, lifting yourself off of the couch.

“Nah. Christ, be careful.”

You throw a smile full of mischief at him and tiptoe over to Blonde. He’s lying on his back with the look of a worn-out child on his face– you had always told him he had a babyface, though right now it looked even more youthful. The kind of peace you only have as a child. Squinting in concentration, you reach over into his breast pocket (he’s wearing that damn turquoise polo shirt he always wears) and sneak out a cigarette for yourself. “Thanks, gorgeous,” you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his cheek and returning to Pink on the couch. Smugly, you pop the cig between your lips and he lights it for you.

“Thank you, handsome.”

He half-laughs, glancing from the TV to you, then gingerly slips his arm around your shoulder again. You’re both a little tipsy, but nowhere near as bad as the other guys. Pink breathes in the smoke from  ~~Blonde’s~~  your cigarette and changes his mind– he always goes on about how he’s quit smoking, yet he  _always_ smokes around you & the guys. “Actually, could I have a drag’a that?” he asks, leaning in to speak to you.

“Sure, Mr. ‘I Quit Smoking’,” you smirk, passing him the cigarette.

He takes it from you, takes a long drag and chuckles. Normally Pink would hit the roof if anyone said that to him but, since it’s you, he finds it quite amusing. “I  _did_  quit,” he says, handing it back to you.

You smirk up at him. “No, I believe you.”

The two of you share the cigarette, passing it back & forth until Pink stubs it out in an ashtray. You sigh to yourself. You had always been cosy with the boys-- being the only female dog, it helped make things a little more comfortable and lighthearted-- but there had always been a soft spot for Pink. He’s reserved yet outspoken and definitely has his guard up. You don’t blame him, it’s professional behaviour, but you’ve always wanted to poke around, find out more about him. Maybe it’s just because you’re hoping there’s a soft centre in his hard exterior. “You smell good now,” you comment, huddling up to him-- the smell of the cigarette lingers, and you love it.

“What do you-- didn’t I smell good before?”

You giggle. “Yeah, you just smell better now, dumbass.”

“Oh.”

Looking up at him, you decide it’s time to make a move. You’re tipsy, so you can always blame it on that. “It’s okay, though,” you smile, playing with the buttons on his Hawaiian shirt, “you make up for it in hotness.”

He looks at you, a shocked-kind of confusion in his eyes. After a pause, he speaks.  **“Are you flirting with me?”**

You cup his cheek and kiss him softly, his facial hair brushing against your skin and the bitter taste of the cigarette you had just shared still on his lips.  **“You finally noticed?”**


End file.
